


Kerchiefs and Kingship

by deathmallow



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Prince Caspian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmallow/pseuds/deathmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A "What if?" AU one-shot based off the Caspian/Susan pairing demonstrated in the "Prince Caspian" movie. King Caspian, years into a long and prosperous reign, reflects on his past, present, and future duty, and remembers a girl who helped save his kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kerchiefs and Kingship

**Author's Note:**

> Another older fic initially posted at The Pit. 
> 
> Also my first effort to sort of try to fall more in line with someone else's writing style, i.e., the rather more formal prose of a Victorian/Edwardian British academic like C. S. Lewis. How successful I was, that's up to you to decide.
> 
> This one definitely is AU for the books, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

When Caspian was a boy, like many young lads, he had kept a box of secrets. A battered thing of brass, crudely etched with the Telmarine seafarer's star—that was in the days when he had still fancied running away to sea—and "Caspian", in a youthful hand.

Stuffed behind a stone in the walls of his mother's solar, empty since her death, he kept the things that only a child would value. Feathers from gulls and jays, and an enormous one of golden brown, that he had been convinced must be from a mythical Narnian griffin. Sea-smoothed bits of glass and stone; a tarnished spear point that he had found poking about the ruins of Caer Paravel; all jumbled with farriers' nails, bird egg-shells, clovers and dried herbs, and other bits. When he was sixteen, he found the box again after years of forgetfulness. Where he had once seen wonderful treasures, now all he saw was junk, with a critical eye.

The lot of it had been in the rubbish heap by evening, save for the one thing he had been unable to let go. That single feather, a little ragged for its years, had held more allure with its promise of the unknown than any of the finery that lay in his father's castle. He had hid it fearfully from his uncle Miraz, taking it out only occasionally to feel its sleek softness beneath his fingertips, bright and lustrous.

King Caspian Estevan del'Marro, Tenth of His Name, was surrounded by the wealth of a prosperous and happy kingdom, the likes of which hadn't been seen in thirteen hundred years. Yet his greatest treasure now was a linen kerchief, embroidered in scarlet with a herring-bone pattern around its hem, the initials "S.J.P." in one corner. She had given it to him in the temple, when he wept for his failure, for his murdered father. Twenty years later, the smell of her had largely faded from it, but there was still a ghostly whiff—or perhaps just wishful thinking on his part. Honeysuckle, from the blossoms she rubbed on her wrists and throat at times for their scent. The sharp-sweet smell of cloves always on her hands from the oil for the string of her bow. Grass and sweat, he recalled, and the leather of her armor.

It was just a simple thing, an ordinary scrap of fabric; as mundane as any other handkerchief carried by one of his subjects in their pockets or sleeves. But like his griffin feather, when he touched it he fancied he could almost see the mystery and majesty and power of its former owner.

Susan Jane Pevensie; called "Queen Susan the Gentle." Those who had so named her clearly hadn't seen her fighting like a tigress. It had been her ivory horn he had blown in desperation, the horn that summoned her and her siblings to Narnia. To him it seemed they were bound together from the start by that common thread.

But not in the end—she had left him with a smile and a single kiss, and a look in her eye that spoke of a woman's years in a girl's body. If he had not been a king newly crowned, painfully aware of his obligations, he would have followed her through the door in the air, followed her to her strange and wonderful England. The seventeen-year-old boy in him had yearned to. But desire had bowed to duty, as it must. His life was not his own; Telmarines and Narnians alike looked to him to bind the wounds of their nation.

In time, his heart healed, insofar as it might. The years were good to him, and to Narnia. He gave his love and adoration to the people, and it gladdened him in the ensuing years to see the children in the meadows, those with olive or cream skinned human legs running around alike with those who had roan and chestnut and dapple haired horse and goat ones.

He was thirty-seven now, and had never wed. Certainly, as splendid as some of the women of his realm were, none seemed to match up to her peerless courage and wit and grace. And it seemed unfair to him to submit any good-hearted woman to the shadow of a love he could never quite let go.

For those who asked, reminded, cajoled him about his obligation to provide with an heir, he would only smile and say, "All the people of Narnia are my children." If they persisted, then Caspian showed the steel underlying the goodwill—he sharply remind them that bloodlines were not the only qualifying traits for rule: the del'Marro kings before him, ever since the journey from the homeland, had done Narnia no good turn. The matter was always quickly dropped after such an exchange.

But in truth, he thought that the kingdom would be better served by another who might continue his work in bringing Telmarines and Narnians together as equals. Always, whether in the Telmarine Dynasty or the days of the legendary Four, the humans ruled and the magical creatures served. Only when a Narnian or a human alike could ascend the throne would things be as they should. And he intended to see it accomplished before he died. For that…he needed a Narnian as his heir.

The thing was done, of course. As soon as he could, he had left the future of the kingdom safely in good hands. He had observed for years, assessing, judging—trying to select the right candidate. One with a kind heart and a shrewd mind and a strong will, and that air of dignity that spoke of a leader. He had found his man…or rather, his woman. After Susan, perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him that a female had passed his qualifications best, but he was honest enough to admit to himself that it had been so.

It had taken the better part of two years to convince her, once he had summoned her to the palace to tell her of his plan. Her humility and hesitation at the news only convinced him of the rightness of his choice. But three years ago Charessa Guidingstar had been announced as his heir and the next queen. The Narnians had joyfully celebrated their young princess, and in time, even the Telmarines had come to love the chestnut-haired centauress, compassionate and charming, who asked after the children and then let them ride on her back.

Of course, he should still have a good many years left to him, so Charessa need not worry herself about all that for a while yet. And as centaur-folk lived two centuries or more, her reign should also be long, and hopefully blessed.

He walked in the woods that afternoon, taking pleasure in the flaming copper and bronze and gold of the leaves fluttering in the autumn breeze. The trees whispered softly as he passed by, though it was only a simple, low murmur. But magic was alive and taking root once again in Narnia. Perhaps in time these trees might once again move and speak loudly enough to divulge their ancient wisdom as they had in the time of the Four.

Sitting down on a boulder that sat on the riverbank below the bluffs, he cast his thoughts and worries aside, drinking in the peace of the forest. One of the bearfolk came to show her cub how to fish for the leaping salmon, and shyly greeted King Caspian by name. After she left, it might have been only a minute or much longer before he heard the soft tread behind him and half-turned to see Aslan the Lion standing there.

"Hullo, Aslan," he said, giving a dip of his head in acknowledgment. "You've been away these years." He was aware of the careful neutrality of his tone, but he couldn't help it. The sight of Aslan gripped his heart fearfully. The coming of the lion could be only a sign of change to come; the old tales usually had him arriving when Narnia's need was dire. "What brings you to these lands again?"

Aslan padded quietly down to him, his massive paws sure-footed and barely causing any disturbance of the loose scree that littered the steep bank. Caspian gestured idly to a spot beside him, an invitation to sit, but apparently the Great Lion preferred to remain standing for whatever speech he had to deliver. He stood, rufous mane blowing gently in the wind, and regarded Caspian with kindly golden eyes.

"You have done well for Narnia, your Majesty," he acknowledged with a dip of his head in acknowledgment.

"I've got much to do yet before the sins of my ancestors are accounted for, though."

Aslan chuckled, a throaty purring sound. "Twenty years of peace and prosperity should not be so lightly dismissed, Caspian," he chided gently. "And atoning for their acts is not your responsibility. Your own actions have served the people, capably and well."

"I hope that I shall continue to do so."

The lion smiled; the expression oddly not out of place on his fierce countenance. "And you would, I'm certain. But…you've made a start of it, another golden age for Narnia. The time is here for another to take up the next part, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Your time is done, Caspian. You've made the kingdom thrive, prepared your heir's path for the future. But the time has come for Charessa to take her place and continue the path towards a new golden age of Narnia."

He stared at Aslan, unable to form any response but a simple, "Oh." So this was the end then. He wasn't yet an old man by any means, but surprisingly, the thought brought little of rage or shock to him. He would have ruled the next years as he had done to this point, taking pleasure in seeing Narnia grow prosperous. But the Lion was right. He could rule capably, but there was nothing that he would offer them that the Princess Charessa might not give them, and perhaps more besides by virtue of the very reasons he had chosen her. The people would be in good hands. He took a deep, sighing breath.

He looked at Aslan, who gazed steadily back at him with kindness in his eyes. "Do you mean that I should die now?" he asked. Certainly, the idea of his own death didn't bother him much. Telmarine boys were raised to not fear dying for their country, their people. If he must step aside now so that the rule could pass to one who could do more good, then that sacrifice was one he was willing to make. And there were none left alive here in Narnia who would grieve for the man rather than the king.

"No, Caspian. Don't fear, you've earned such a place by your service, but the gifts of eternity can wait. And remember, as I told the Four in the time long ago…once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia."

"I don't understand," he said, wanting to look away but somehow unable to do so.

"I had a different sort of reward in mind. You were a still half a child when you took the throne, when I saw you last. Twenty years of duty mean that you have given up much, and yet you did it with a willing heart." Aslan raised his head towards the skies, his voice deepening. "So now I restore what you gave in order to be the king that Narnia needed."

The mighty roar of the Great Lion shook the earth, filling Caspian's ears with its volume and making his vision swim dizzyingly.

When he took his hands from his ears, he winced again in pain—the roar was still there, ringing sharply. But no, this was different from Aslan's deep timbre, a higher pitched tone that was almost like the whistling of a massive tea-kettle. He opened his eyes and almost stumbled in shock.

A white room, such as many in his castle, but surely no room in Narnia was like this. The lights from overhead were not torches, but a steady glow like giant fireflies. The sign on the wall he faced read "Track 4" in stark black letters. The whistling came again, and now the ringing had died down enough that he heard it coming from behind him. Turning on his heel, his eyes went wide at the sight of a machine such as the Telmarines had never built, like a string of long dark carriages all bound together, as far as his eye could see. He couldn't see its front, but the number of horses it must require…

"What is this place?" he murmured, and startled again to hear the pitch of his own voice, slightly higher than he was accustomed to—a voice such as he had when he was a much younger man, not yet fully grown.

Somebody passing by overheard his words and turned towards him, a young girl dressed in a short skirt to her knees of checkered wool and a woolen tunic. "King's Cross," she said, giving him a cheeky grin. "Did you get lost or knocked on the head, then?"

"He's with us," he heard a voice say, and shifted his gaze from one girl to the one now coming towards him, a mixture of happiness and irritation and amazement in her silvery-grey eyes. Susan Pevensie, young and lovely, and dressed in the same strange garb as the girl who'd told him the name of this place.

With a nonchalant shrug, the first girl turned and walked away, leaving him with the young woman he'd not seen since he was seventeen. "What," she demanded, "are you doing here? Did you follow us through the door in the air, Caspian?"

He admitted he hadn't permitted himself to imagine another meeting between himself and Susan. It was an impossible thing; he had his duty to Narnia, and she had said that she would never be able to return. But had he allowed himself the indulgence, certainly those wouldn't have been the words he would have had from her lips. His tongue suddenly felt made of lead, heavy and thick. "I…"

"Told the three of them we ought not to follow the White Stag, and look what happens," she said, shaking her head crossly, "we end up back here and Narnia falls into darkness. And now _you_ come haring after me like a silly lovesick fool, when the people need you?"

He suddenly felt quite calm for a man who by all rights should have been dazed out of his wits by circumstances, plus alarmed at such a confrontation, "Susan," he finally managed, "it's been twenty years since you left."

"Look at you! If it's been twenty years, you haven't aged a day." She stared at him again with some intensity, and then finally blinked and sighed. "Oh. Drat. We did end up children again when we returned…time moves differently…but you never left here to cause such a thing."

"I was thirty-seven not five minutes ago," he protested. He had forgotten some of the cutting edge of her tongue, so it seemed, during those years.

"Well, you're seventeen now, or thereabouts, make no mistake about that. Why did you come through the door?" Her voice gentled a little; now that she seemed convinced he hadn't abandoned his country for a romantic whim. He risked a quick glance down and saw that in addition to whatever changes to his years, he was also dressed in the same clothing as the other boys he saw nearby. Whatever Aslan had done, he hadn't sent him entirely unprepared.

"I didn't." He thought on Aslan's words. _I restore what you gave…_ What he had given for Narnia: twenty years of life and whatever chances he might have had with this young woman. He felt himself smiling. "The Lion sent me here."

She didn't ask him why Aslan would have done it. Perhaps she understood as well as he did, having lived into adulthood and its wisdom before accidentally resuming the youthful form she now wore. The future was uncertain; she had spoken little of England and even the glimpses of this strange, marvelous place called King's Cross told him that this world was very different from the one he had known.

Nor did he know what might come between them. Perhaps the feelings he had kindled for her in those few short weeks might prove true here in England. Perhaps it had just been a childish fancy for both of them. But still…Aslan had given both of them the opportunity to find the answers, rather than Caspian brooding over a linen handkerchief and the mystery of what might have been.

He looked over her shoulder to see her brothers and sister watching him from where they sat on a bench nearby, giving Susan the respect of privacy.

Golden-haired Peter gave him a simple nod of acknowledgment; the friendship but also the rivalry they had shared still sharp in his mind, when it was but dimming memory to Caspian. Edmund, his black hair tousled over his forehead like bold strokes of ink, risked giving him a smile, though the wrinkle of his brow betrayed his confusion. Little Lucy beamed at him and waved energetically, apparently not at all bothered at his sudden appearance.

He looked back at Susan, who gave him a genuine smile and finally offered him her hand. "Come on, then, let's go have you say 'hullo' to the rest of them. At least they'll all understand. Suddenly being young again is…something of a shock. But still, welcome to England."

With the courage and loyalty of Susan Jane Pevensie and her siblings on his side, he thought with her hand warm in his, he might well handle just about anything.


End file.
